Chapter 5

Dawn came home early the next morning, before anybody woke up. The pre-dawn light painted the world a soft gray, and Dawn didn't bother turning on the lights. She quietly stepped through the apartment, careful not to disturb Buffy, who was sleeping on the couch. She didn't feel like dealing with Buffy at that point.

She bypassed her room, and instead went into Buffy's. As she expected, William was there, also asleep. William. Spike. Buffy didn't understand, she didn't understand most things. She thought she was the only one who mourned Spike. She thought she was the only who lay awake at nights, thinking of things that should have been different. She thought she was the only one with regrets.

Dawn resented Buffy, just a little. She had come to terms with Spike and what he meant to her. They had made their peace together and moved on. Dawn never had a chance for closure, never really had a chance to talk to him and maybe even forgive him. She had to live with that for the past year, with the knowledge that she lost her best friend twice. And it took a year to deal with that, to allow those wounds to scab over and begin to finally heal.

So what does Buffy do? She tries to drag him back when Dawn was finally ready to put the past behind her. How could she be so selfish? And now there was this…man…this person she didn't know, sleeping in her house, with Spike's face. Dawn was used to weird shit happening to her. Weird shit defined her life. But how was she supposed to adjust to a twice dead man transported from 120 years ago sleeping in her sister's bed?

Dawn had always meant to talk to Spike. Several times, he had attempted to talk to her. He would say her name, pause, cock his head, then say "never mind" and walk away. She never called after him, never approached him, but god, she always meant to. Dawn angrily wiped her tears away. She was finished crying over Spike, supposedly.

The bandage on William's neck had come loose while he slept, and Dawn tentatively pushed it aside. He wasn't bleeding, the bandage was clean, but the bite mark looked angry and red. It would scar, no doubt. Spike had many scars, but none from Drusilla. Physical ones, at any rate.

Dawn pulled up a chair beside the bed and perched on the edge. She didn't want to leave him, not yet. She needed to grow accustomed to seeing him, readjust her life around this new addition, and try to get her tumultuous emotions under control. She would just take a few more minutes, then get dressed and start her day.

"He looks softer, doesn't he?" Buffy said quietly from behind her. Dawn didn't turn around, not even when Buffy placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Not when he's asleep," Dawn said. "He looks the same when he's asleep. Spike was almost peaceful when he slept."

"The color is a bit off."

"What else is different?" Dawn asked, almost inaudibly.

"I don't know Dawn. Come in the kitchen and I'll make breakfast."

Dawn grimaced, "Um, no thanks. I'll make breakfast."

"Oh, come on. It's not that bad."

"Yes, Buffy, it is that bad."

They girls exited the bedroom, so absorbed in their bickering that they didn't notice William open his bright, blue eyes. He frowned and rolled over, his back to the door. Who was that other girl? It was highly inappropriate to be in his bedroom, especially when he was asleep. William didn't like that at all, and couldn't help the slight blush creeping over his cheeks.

He was only slightly surprised when he opened his eyes in the same bed he fell asleep in. William's final hope before he fell asleep was that he would wake up in his own bed, with the sound of the maid banging around the kitchen, and his mother singing hymns in the drawing room. Perhaps he would take his mother out to the park and read her some poetry. But those hopes were dashed when he felt the presence of the younger girl in his room, staring at him intently.

William was in the habit of writing a few lines of poetry every morning, just as the sun came up. It was when he felt most inspired. The golden sun, the singing birds, the loud bustle of the streets below, conspired against him until words fairly poured from his pen. It was with a great deal of pain that he realized there were no words twirling and dancing around his head, just out of reach. Empty silence greeted him, and he had nothing. He tried to force a line about his beloved Cecily, but nothing came. He tried to force three simple words together, and three words, to describe something, anything. He didn't care, but nothing happened.

This was not supposed to happen to him. Words were not supposed to die. How could he be stranded in a new time, a new place, a new continent, a new life, with no words? His hands clenched in desperation, and the emotions that were never far rose up, tears stung his eyes. Tears of desperation, not fear.  He wasn't afraid anymore; he knew things were completely, and utterly out of his control in every way.

Buffy stuck her head into the room to see if William was awake, and immediately asked him what was wrong. She couldn't see his face, but it was clear, even to her,  from his body language that he was extremely distressed. He didn't respond, just took a deep, shaky breath.

"William?" She repeated, "What's wrong?" Stupid question, Buffy thought. What isn't wrong would be a better question.

"Nothing," he finally said, his voice tight. "Please, I just wish to be alone."

"Ok William, just…if you need anything, I'm here to help."

"There is one thing, actually." William still didn't turn around, but his voice was more even now. "Do you have a paper and a pen? If it's not too much trouble?"

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be right back."

Buffy frantically searched through the kitchen cabinets, looking for anything resembling paper. She came up empty handed. "How is this possible? What? We never use paper?"

"What do you need paper for?" Dawn asked.

"William asked for some, I'm looking for a notebook that's not full or covered in strawberry jam."

Dawn disappeared into her room and returned seconds later, triumphantly, with a red notebook and a pack of pens. "For his poems?" She asked.

Buffy frowned, "How do you know he wrote…writes…poems?"

"I knew—know—a lot of stuff about him, Buffy," Dawn said softly as she handed the notebook over. "He was my friend once too you know."

Buffy looked slightly taken aback, as though she had completely forgotten Dawn's relationship with Spike. "Right, I know. It's just, he didn't talk much about his, you know, past."

"He did when he was drunk."

Buffy pursed her lips, temporarily annoyed at the thought of Dawn hanging out with Spike when he was drunk enough to spill embarrassing stories.

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. Those nights, they were long Buffy."

"I know." They paused, both slightly uncomfortable as they were assaulted by memories best left buried. "I better get these to him," she finally said.

"Yeah. Anyway, I won't be home until late tonight."

"Why?"

"Going to a party with some of my friends."

"You're just telling me now? You don't bother to ask anymore."

"Buffy, I asked you last week."

"What did I say?"

"You said yes."

"I'm going to take your word for it this time. Don't forget your curfew, or I'll send Angel after you."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Dawn stuck out her tongue, gathered up her books, and was gone. Buffy hesitated a moment, then decided to prepare William a tray. As far as she knew, he hadn't eaten once since arriving. Toast, orange juice, and an apple. Not much, but until she knew what he would eat, it was the best she could do.

"Sorry, couldn't find a notebook…" she said as she returned to the bedroom. William had sat up, and was frowning down at himself disapprovingly. "What's up?"

"Oh nothing, it's just, well, I'm not very dressed."

"What?"

He motioned to the t-shirt and shorts that he had been wearing for the past two days. "This is hardly appropriate attire."

Buffy opened her mouth to tell him not to worry about it, it wasn't anything she hadn't seen before, but decided it wouldn't do to embarrass the poor man. "I'll look into getting you some more…um, appropriate attire. Anyway, I brought you some food."

"Thank you, you didn't have to do that."

Buffy laughed, "Yeah, I kinda did. Otherwise you'll starve."

He smiled shyly and accepted the tray from her. Their hands touched briefly, and William responded with a slight blush. "You're very kind."

Buffy dismissed the compliment with a wave of her hand. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"No, no, not at all."

"Feeling better now?" Buffy asked, concerned. He looked and sounded slightly better, but only slightly.

"No," he answered, surprising both of them with his honesty.

"Oh…anything I can do?" Let me help, let me make this better, let me rectify the situation, god, let me do something!

"No, no. I'm just going to write."

"Oh, a poem?"

William looked up, startled and Buffy could almost seem him retreat into a shell. "How did you know about my poems?" He asked carefully.

Damn. She should have known better than to ask. Spike was hardly forthcoming with his poetic past, she had no reason to believe that William would want to share.

"Does it have anything to do with this Spike gentleman everybody keeps mentioning?" William asked before she had time to answer. It was her turn to retreat.

She swallowed hard; too shocked to even be amused that "gentleman" and "Spike" were used in conjunction. "Yes, it does."

"Who is he?" Honest curiosity in his voice.

"William, I know this is a crazy question, but do you trust me?"

His brow furrowed. "Yes," he answered earnestly, for a just a second, he reminded Buffy of an eager puppy.

"Does the bite on your neck hurt?"

William put a tentative hand up to the bandage. "I hadn't even thought about it. But yes, it hurts slightly."

"William, you're here because somebody used very powerful magic to pull you forward in time. If you hadn't been pulled forward, you would have been turned into a vampire." She carefully avoided mentioning her own involvement in the mess.

"A vampire named Spike?" William asked, breathlessly.


Buffy nodded.

"But vampires aren't…"

Buffy laughed, "Real? Of course they are. You've met one. Big guy, with hear that stick straight up."

William frowned, "He scared me."  He looked up at Buffy, confusion shining clearly in his eyes. "This is all so hard to take in."

"You seem to be handling things well."

"I feel a bit mad, actually. I thought I would write all of this, everything, down."

"That might be a good idea. It'll keep you occupied for awhile at least."

"This Spike…where is he?"

"He died last year."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

Buffy stood up suddenly, startling William. "I'm sorry, I just can't…" She didn't finish her sentence, just hurried out of the room.

William couldn't help but be hurt over her hasty departure. What had he said wrong? It was so hard to talk to women. The words never would come out right, and he always managed to make a fool out of himself. He tried to express himself to them in poems, but that never turned out well either. The bother was, he never could find the perfect word. It was always beyond his grasp.